Ring of Roses
by Robin Eaton
We had moved into our new home in the suburbs just three weeks before,
and I was just beginning to get the last of the not-so-important boxes
unpacked. As I stood in the cluttered kitchen, I looked at the wall in
the breakfast nook, bare and boring. I decided that it needed a little
something, and I knew just what it needed... a wreath. Every suburban
wife had a wreath in their perfect little suburban home. And not just a
wreath, a homemade one. A wreath handmade with love by the devoted
suburban homemaker. Ok, so that's what I was now. So that's what I had
to do.
I went to the local craft shop and looked at some display wreaths.
Nothing spectacular, nothing too innovative, just flowers and fruit and
bows. Then it hit me, I would make a wreath using all of those old dried
roses I had saved since my husband and I were just two star-struck
teenagers. It was the perfect way to warm our new home. I bought a
wreath and went home, with a spring in my step. I had a new mission!
As I pulled in the driveway, I saw my husband and my son sitting on the
front step, sifting through the pine mulch for bugs. You see, my son is
a preschooler and he is utterly fascinated by creepy crawlies. So, with
the men in my life occupied on their bug safari, I was free to work on
my project unencumbered.
I went to the bedroom and pulled the boxes and canisters of old dried
rose buds out from under our bed (come on, admit it, you store junk
under yours, too). I was glad I had saved them, all these years.
Although I never knew what I was going to do with them, I just couldn't
bare to throw them away. I took them to the kitchen and spread them out
on the table. I couldn't believe how many there were. There, spread
before me, was every flower my husband had ever sent me in our entire
relationship.
There were the red roses from the first time we had a fight. I don't
remember what it was all about now, but he sent me roses and a romantic
note extolling his undying love (ok, so it said I love you, I'm sorry),
and everything was fixed as good as new. There were the little peach
roses he sent to my office when I had a bad cold, the burgundy roses
from my twenty-first birthday, and the yellow roses he sent for no
particular reason at all.
There were the flowers from my first prom corsage. The original hall
booked for the prom had burned, and prom was moved to the school
courtyard. It had been such a busy evening that we hadn't even had the
chance to slow dance together once. He felt so bad about it that he had
pulled the car over and turned up the radio and danced with me in the
empty parking lot of a church.
There were the miniature roses from the day my son was born. What a
perfect day that was. The drive to the hospital in quiet anticipation,
the anxious waiting for the doctor, the amazingly short labor that left
us both surprisingly exhausted, all leading up to this perfect moment
with our newborn son. And here we were now, a family in our own home.
Oh, how many memories these roses brought back! As I glued each rose on
the wreath, I remembered more and more wonderful ways my husband had
showed how much he cared for me. I finally finished the wreath and hung
it on the breakfast nook wall. And there it still hangs, a reminder of
all we have been through together, and all the joy my husband brings me
each day. Oh, and if you were wondering about the bug safari...no bugs
were captured, but a good time was had by all.
Article copyright 2000 Robin Eaton
About the Author:
Robin is a wife and mother of two who enjoys writing and feels
it is a gift of expression from God. You may email her at Motherof3writer@hotmail.com
